nyctxphobic.
▇ ▇▇▇ — three – four… five? fuck, he’d L O S T count at this point. when he was up for this long, days blended into nights back into days and he couldn’t separate them from one another. which meant it was either tuesday, wednesday, thursday or – fuck, was it sunday? scott brought hands together in his lap, pressing himself back against the sinkside. ❝ it doesn’t MATTER i’m good. go home, connor. ❞
╳⁞ it had been a WEEK, a full week since scott had slept, at least by the count that connor was keeping, and he was good at keeping logs thanks to his work. most would call it a hobby, but dealing with ghosts was his job. ask anyone who ever tried to get close to him. this man knew him better than anyone, knew exactly why connor did what he did, and he wasn’t going to let scott TORTURE himself to death. he needed to sleep and if that meant him drugging his happy ass he would.
❝ you’re not fine. now let me in, or i’ll bust in the door. ❜
